Turn of Events
by KarotsaMused
Summary: The ritual of rainy days is broken, and only Sanzo really knows why
1. Spoon

A/N: I wrote the first two chapters of this while in Sacramento, writing longhand in a wide-rule notebook in blue pen. It was a new and interesting experience, because normally I just bang things out on the computer. Anyway, writing in the car is tough. But hopefully this isn't too awful ^.^  
  
This is a set of three...vignettes? Musing fits? Scenes...involving Gojyo, Hakkai, and Sanzo, in that order. Because I am lazy and poetic, you'll have to pay attention to my grammar. When verbs are in present tense, it's right inside the character's head, a play-by-play of what's happening. When verbs are in past tense, they refer to the prior night. A lot of the time there'll be a present-tense sentence followed immediately by one referring to the past, without a paragraph break in between. For the sake of poetics, I got lazy with coherency ^.^  
  
Disclaimer: Saiyuki isn't mine. *heavy sigh*  
  
Warnings: Shounen-ai, smut, language, probable OOC. For some reason, the farther into Saiyuki fandom one goes, the less affectionate Sanzo gets. While I admit he's not a huggy bunny, he -does- smile every once in a while. At least, in the anime he does *hugs her DVDs*  
  
If you've gotten through all that, I hope you enjoy this...and remember: Ulterior motives are like a Visa card. Never leave home without one.  
  
***  
  
Gojyo:  
  
*  
  
It's morning again. Blessed sunrise for warmth, cursed for light. I hate sunlight waking me up. But I love being warm. If nothing else, right here is warm. The sky outside, from what I can see, is deceptively orange and red, sunrise painting the spent clouds that exhausted themselves in last night's storm. And what a storm. Even the unmitigated frugality of a godless monk with a divinely limited charge card couldn't keep us from boarding at the nearest inn.  
  
It was just luck, karma, whatever, that let this place be anomalously lush in respite from the wind. I'd expected to conk out alone in my own room (there are times I like the saru for the amenities his whining brings) but I had to change plans, and fast.  
  
It's still cold outside, despite the brightness of the sky. I'd left the window open to hear the rain and let the biting air in. It felt so good. And snuggling into my cocoon is good now.  
  
Warm and soft and only slightly yielding, his body curls with mine. For something so pale, he is accommodating. He sighs in sleep, just an extra emphasis to one exhalation on the side of my neck. If I wanted, just a slight tilt of my head would again bring my mouth to his. But now matter how sweet sake could make him, I care little to compound mutual morning breath. Now there's a thought.  
  
Come to remembering, there had not been a single drop of liquor involved. Which was not the likely scenario, by my earlier calculations. Don't get me wrong; this wasn't a premeditated thing. Oh, no. Only he and Sanzo have the capacity to turn me on, and I hadn't known half of -that- 'till last night. It's this thing I have about people being sad. Him staring off into the distance is just as bad as a girl crying sometimes. I made it better the only way I knew how. It was one of the more stupid things I've ever done, I think.  
  
In my defense, he caught me off-guard. Rainstorms send him to corroborate with Sanzo, and not even -God- could know what really goes on behind their closed door. Rain means a lot to both of them, I guess, but only Gonou's story means something to me. I was involved. It was raining when I found him. Ironic.  
  
That was part of it. He came to -my- room, and, though I gave him chance to leave, he stayed. Sober and solemn, he stayed. Maybe he couldn't find Sanzo or something like that, but I know what it means and, I gotta admit, I was flattered.  
  
It struck me, the dryness of him. Not only in terms of sobriety, but just dry warmth. I was slightly damp, naturally humid just from having the window open. But he was impeccably, inviolably dry. Like he'd fight before he let the rain physically affect him. Weird-dry, untouched. He's dry now, relatively, but there's sweat on him, oil on him from my skin.  
  
I realize it may look like I'm holding him. My head's higher because my neck's longer, but really his grip is dominant. One hand over my waist, the other behind my cheek, palming the scars so that they itch. I nuzzle into his hand to scratch, and the feeling is luxuriant. Oh, please, don't wake up yet and look at me.  
  
His eyes fuck with me something awful. When he's not concentrating on it, he's transparent in disturbing ways. He looked me in the eyes last night and I lost the comment I was going to make. He sat by the window, but away from it at the same time. He didn't talk because that would have been pointless. I stood at the edge of his precipice, watching him tumble down and not even able to estimate the depth or impact upon landing. It was disquieting, and touching him seemed natural. Just one hand on his shoulder, my thumb pressing into the knot at the base of his neck. He breathed a sigh, barely audible against the rain. A half-concealed whimper. And he leaned into me, through the back of his chair.  
  
I wonder if Sanzo ever touched him like I did, taking the unmonkly route of carnal comfort to clear both their heads so they could revel in their pain. It's not the sorrow but the mental image of the two of them that's making me stiffen against his leg. And he's naked as I am, snuggled into me, so he's bound to feel it. Hakkai sleeps light.  
  
I kind of want him to wake up, just to see how he'd react to a boner against his thigh. He moves a little, huffing in sleep as he is prone to do. (The first couple of times I'd heard it in Jiipu out on clear camp-outs, I thought it was a sneak attacker sneezing or something. Imagine the chagrin when I realized what it was.) Oh. Warmth does him good, apparently, because that's not his leg.  
  
I hadn't suspected I was that tall. Although the vertigo applied when he'd rested his cheek against my fly. That was an oh-God moment if ever there was one. There I was, massaging an emotionally distraught, unstable young man that happened to be my best friend and suddenly I was entertaining images of his mouth wrapped around my cock. And he knew it, because he glanced up at me and I could just tell. It was the Hakkai's-getting-what-he-wants face.  
  
Which probably meant I was a cheap consolation fuck, but that had occurred to me and I still went through with it. Consolation nothing, I made him -scream-. Insofar, of course, as loud noises could be made, both for the sake of decency and the capacity of his throat. But the sounds that came from him were hoarse and needy, those sweet whimpers and gasps when he was too far gone to articulate my name past the first syllable. Soft-spoken he may be, but an astonishing array of noises issue from him when the right buttons are pressed. Or bitten.  
  
Now I want him awake to leave so I can jack off in peace. If he's here, I'm afraid I'll have to use him for it, conscious or no. I realize I'm staring down at his upturned face, and what I can see of it is most definitely contented. He's got a faint smile on, gentler than I could keep if I had a raging hard-on. Let's just assume I was speaking rhetorically.   
  
I can't wait. Let the ramifications come when he wakes; I'll take my medicine as soon as I can walk normally again. I grind against him, not half as gently as I'd meant to, and my eyes cross. He grabs my ass and does it again, eyes opening lazily.  
  
"Morning," he murmurs, fastening his mouth to my neck.  
  
The ready acceptance was not something I'd expected last night, the way he'd disrobed me faster than I could get the clothes off myself and sucked me off 'till I saw stars. And I hadn't even let it be a distant hope this morning. But he's willing, no, demanding.  
  
"How long have you been up?" I ask, rolling on top of him and nuzzling at the side of his mouth. He chuckles to himself, the hot hand once trapped between my face and the pillow dancing across my chest.  
  
"What you really want to ask about," he murmurs, "is how long I've been -awake-." 


	2. Crush

A/N: Welcome to chapter two. This one's slightly sillier than the first one, because eight hours of driving and a pack of Red Vines aren't conductive to the best angst. But I like it anyway.  
  
Warnings: Besides the other stuff, the OOC is a little more pronounced. But I thought up Gojyo's extended metaphor, giggled at it, and had to use it. Also, fluffy silliness.  
  
Hakkai's full answer is "No, he shouldn't," in case anybody gets confused. I meant it that way, but I decided to be nice and illuminate further. Hee, it takes Gojyo a good fifteen minutes to figure it out himself...  
  
Happy readage ^.^ Sanzo's chapter will come as soon as I figure it out.  
  
***  
  
Hakkai:  
  
*  
  
Oh, God. He's so good, good enough to back up his claims. I didn't think anyone could meet that. And yet, somehow, he made me ignore the rain because he took precedence. Twice. Oh, God, twice.  
  
I put my hand to my forehead, letting the hot bathwater drip between my eyes. I shouldn't have done that this morning. Because it proves that wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing. Then again, maybe I underestimate the power of Gojyo's obliviousness. He is no Sanzo.  
  
I can't stop it; a little indulgent, guilty chuckle escapes me. They both taste vaguely of ashtrays. But Sanzo caught on to things I hadn't known I'd revealed.  
  
Rainy nights, as a rule, are spent with Sanzo. Thinking, drinking, and even talking sometimes. It's an old ritual, but we never run out of thoughts, words, or sake. The final in particular, the first night he kissed me. It was determined, despite his inebriation, and deliberate. I was half as drunk but twice as physically lonely, unless there's another meaning behind his chakra. From what little I've learned, I doubt it.  
  
My shock at his first touch dissolved when I realized my own need. We stole from one another, taking everything but love, until he realized how much sorrow was bottled behind our lips. He wiped the tear from my face, sucked it from his thumb, and almost smiled. We stayed up the rest of that night, silent and staring out the window to the pouring sky. I sigh a bit at the memory, then tense as the door opens.  
  
"Mind sharing?" Gojyo asks, dropping his towel and hopping in without awaiting a reply. I'd never refused him before, so why should anything change? I hide a frown at his casuality and suddenly realize I didn't want him to act differently. So why does it hurt?  
  
Sanzo knows; he practically said it himself. I'd gone to his room last night, awaiting the ritual I'd come to depend on, wondering if he would choose that night to touch me again, the sudden catharsis he only initiated on the right nights. I found him leaning on the windowsill, as close to the pouring rain as he had ever been, showing only his profile to the door.  
  
He rolled one violet eye toward me and murmured, "I don't love you. What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
So offset was I by this deceptively soft baritone that I didn't respond for several minutes. He blinked lazily and put his face on his hand.  
  
"Ask a stupid question and you know what happens."  
  
I smiled out of reflex, finally understanding. "How long?"  
  
He pulled his gun on me, closed one eye, and replied, "Forever. Get out."  
  
Thinking back, if I had asked why, he probably -would- have shot me. Stupid questions protect you sometimes.  
  
So I'd gone out like a man on a mission, intent on some form of vindication, and I got it. Unfortunately for my sense of normalcy. I should have thought before I went to him, should not have gone at all. But Sanzo's words were heady and I lost my sense.  
  
Gojyo stretches long, lanky arms over his head and lets out an appreciative grunt. He grins at me and says, "Sanzo took the saru off by his ear and threw him in the other basin across the hall. Said he smelled worse than the rest of us combined." He shrugs, lazy contentment settling over him. "I wasn't going to stay for -that- little love-fest. Can't stand the smell of wet animal."  
  
I smile a little because I am unable to help it. A real smile, one he should know. He turns to face me, looking straight into my eyes, and probably doesn't see it.  
  
He drawls, "So, Hakkai, d'you like puzzles? You used to be a teacher." His grin quirks. "So it should be easy."  
  
The wet ends of his hair cling to his chest as he sits up, dropping his hands into the water to warm them. I just wait for the blow to come.  
  
"Imagine, if you will, a child who adores candy. There's always a jar full of it on a counter just out of his reach, and he knows his mother will catch him if he tries to steal any. The reprimand almost makes the candy not worth a try." He pauses to see if I am listening, runs a wet hand through his hair, and makes sure my eyes are attentively upon his face. "Then, suddenly, his mother gives him a piece. It's wonderful stuff, and he's grateful for it, but he has no idea why he got it. The next day, the jar is set on a lower shelf and he receives another piece. It is almost as if he has been allowed to take a taste whenever he wants, but his mother and her punishments could still apply." He grins, satisfied with his metaphor. "My question is, what triggered his mother's sudden generosity, and should that little boy forget about sugar for the rest of his life?"  
  
"That's two," I softly reply, sinking into the water until my chin hits the surface.  
  
Gojyo shrugs. "Pick one, then," he says, fronting endless patience.  
  
I look to my hands and find the skin puckered from soaking too long. I stand and half the water comes with me, sliding off slow and hitting the floor as I get out, wrap a towel about myself, and glance back to Gojyo.  
  
"No."  
  
I'm in my room and dressed before he comes to me, hair dripping but not freshly soaked. His clothes stick to the dampness still on his skin. "Oka-san," he says, "may I spoil my dinner?"  
  
I raise an eyebrow, but his mirth, surprisingly enough, is contagious. Perhaps I am happy too. "We may have to limit you," I reply, tugging at his shirt. "Don't want you getting fat now, do we?"  
  
"That'll be your problem, won't it?" he counters, kissing the corner of my mouth in his pleading little way. I might just have let him have his way but the saru burst in at that moment.   
  
Gojyo must really be rubbing off on me if that's what I'm calling Goku. I have enough time to think that before Gojyo disengages himself from me, advancing instead upon the stunned Goku. I grab the back of his shirt before he gets close enough to maim.  
  
"Can I help you?" I ask, maintaining a firm grip on Gojyo.  
  
Goku blinks, grins, and cries, "I heard you! There's -candy- in here! Can I have some?"  
  
Before I realize it, I'm laughing so hard my shoulders are shaking. Gojyo's laughing too, doubled over in a convulsive fit.  
  
Goku frowns and says, "I -saw- you, too. I'll tell Sanzo if you don't share! You two were...were..."  
  
I smile and nudge him out the door. "Do tell me what he has to say about it."  
  
Gojyo snorts and slams the door behind him, leaning against it as Goku's footsteps slam down the hall. He grins at me, pulls me against him, and murmurs, "'Share,' he says!" so I laugh again against him. "Mine," he growls, proceeding to try and suck my tongue out by the root. Somewhere down the hall I hear the sounds of a harisen crashing down, and the moment suits me just fine. 


	3. Dreaming Tree

A/N: Chapter done! This is the end, folks, I never meant this to be long. Into Sanzo's head we go. Hee, for a one-shot, this got long. This is set right around the time Gojyo wakes up in the beginning - it's morning-after time again.   
  
If you caught it, kudos. The chapter titles are all songs from Dave Matthews Band's "Before These Crowded Streets" just because it's what I've been listening to all the time. And the titles fit ^.^ If you haven't heard "Dreaming Tree", here are some lyrics that I thought sort of fit this chapter.  
  
"This thing I do / I do not deny it / All through this smile / As crooked as danger / I do not deny / I know in my mind / I would leave you now / If I had the strength to / I would leave you up / To your own devices..."  
  
And thus, the mood is set ^.^ Enjoy the final installment.  
  
P.S. Reviews are welcome - thanks to those who've already done it!  
  
***  
  
Sanzo:  
  
*  
  
Slow buildups are torturous. More for having to live through those days than anything else. I stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster and half wanting it to crash down. Dust drifts down, illuminated by the sunlight, and the wall creaks. There is nothing ominous about it. For me, anyway.  
  
When the hell did I manage to get myself to bed? My arms ache from being cemented to the windowsill, my legs are stiff from sitting motionless. I roll onto my side, using the cold to wake up. I reach up and grab the pack of cigarettes I left on the table, fumbling one out without looking at it. Hakkai warned me not to smoke in bed, but fuck Hakkai. Should I have?  
  
The saru depends on me. I can live with that, because he's stupid and bumbling and I get to beat the crap out of him and he'll still dog my heels. That kind of dependence I don't care about, because he generates it all himself. He doesn't need my affection to always want to be with me. He never asks for an apology or gratitude. I don't owe him a thing. I fucking -hate- being in debt.  
  
I roll back into the warm spot I left, coaxing life into the cigarette with a good puff, and toss the lighter onto the table behind me. Smoke rises to the ceiling, mixing with dust and hazing over the view of morning from my open window. Gravity does more than my own mouth, and I go back to absently probing for weak spots in the canopy above my head. The wall creaks again, and I almost get up enough anger to go and shut those two the fuck up. But I'm not furious enough to relinquish my position, or to bear the weight of walking in on them.  
  
I congratulate myself, for what little it's worth. Goku is enough to deal with, without the two of them as well. It was merely for the sake of my sanity. I wince as a familiar voice screams and more dust is dislodged from the ceiling. Maybe it was a bad idea, giving Gojyo a constant, willing partner. Hakkai's not one to refuse physical comforts, and coupling that with the kappa's eternal horniness means I'm going to have to listen to this all the damn' time.  
  
I put a hand to my forehead, knocking ash onto my cheek. I sit up, brush it off, and take another drag. Scowling is so natural I hardly realize I'm doing it anymore. Like a certain smile I'm getting sick of. Feet hit frigid floor. Fuck.  
  
I can deal with the saru, but Hakkai never does anything wrong. He respects personal space, speaks calmly, is polite, -cares-. There's nothing wrong with caring, but I don't need it directed at me. There was something too special about the rain and being with him, and it ceased to be a private affair. I didn't mind so much at first; it was just the natural step up and Hakkai, more than anyone, understood. He doesn't know me because he can't. But he had a damn' good idea.  
  
The saru doesn't expect gratitude. But, if I'm drunk enough, Hakkai begins to deserve it. That's all I saw, and this mouth that's kissed only cigarettes for as far back as I can remember was eager to comply. I was paying off a debt in the only way that came to my inebriated mind. I sobered when I felt him sob, and saw the tear that proved the circumstances weren't as simple as my logic had calculated. I caught it, swallowed it, and wondered how the hell I'd gotten so stupid.  
  
He was perfect. A gentleman. In the face of it, whenever the rain was too heavy and memories steeped thick enough to really pull the trigger, I forgot to thank him and just let him in. I could never submit to anything more concrete than utter separateness, with only our lips connecting us. He never pressed the matter, never tried to hold me. Feeling prompts thought, and I couldn't have kept going if he had reminded me who he was. I never looked at him afterward, never opened my eyes when I paused to breathe. I didn't see anyone in my mind's eye, but I also never had to see him.  
  
Clothes. I pull the robes over my head, teeth fastened to the filter of a shortening cigarette. I don't usually want to don the heavy sacraments so early, but the thin sheets just aren't cutting it. I shut the window, my fingers stiff as they close around the latch. Gojyo always jeers at me for being thin, making inane body heat jokes. I just don't get hungry any more. I never really had been.  
  
Hakkai found meaning in the meaningless. The more time I had alone with him, the more I began to see it as well. For the sake of self-preservation, I did nothing more than shove him off onto someone who could handle it.  
  
He let it slip once, and I doubt he remembers it or else he wouldn't have looked so stupidly surprised when I sent him away. He spoke of the kappa in such a strangely simpering manner that for a while I didn't believe him. But he never lies to me.   
  
Meanwhile, the idiot redhead tried to flirt with me, went after any sapient female he could get his hands on, and fought with Goku. Hakkai was being taken for granted, and he knew it.  
  
Getting him to assert himself was easy. I had the entire night to myself to think afterward, and shove inconvenient emotions back down where they were supposed to be. Contemplating all meanings of the phrase 'virtually nonexistent.'   
  
The cigarette burns down to the filter and I rub it out in the ashtray. There is a knock at the door, followed immediately by it swinging open. He never caught what the knocking was supposed to be for.   
  
"Sanzo! Come on, you're going to miss breakfast!" He runs out of the room, evidently going to find Hakkai. I grab the cigarettes and lighter from the table, stuff them into my robes, and follow in hope of getting a hot mug of coffee and a newspaper. They are a luxury I have come to depend on. 


End file.
